


Reprogramming

by HematiteBadger



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, POV Multiple, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 13:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HematiteBadger/pseuds/HematiteBadger
Summary: There are two voices speaking through you. Only one of them is yours.





	Reprogramming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roswyrm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/gifts).



**How can I assist you today?**

**One second, please.**

**Yes, I'll get on that right away. You're welcome.**

You do the job. You just get on with it, and don't think about it too much, because what is there to think about? You just find information, process it, and pass it on down the line. People ask you questions, and you answer. That's more than enough work for you without thinking about  _ why _  you're answering. You just do, and you can hear your voice relaying the information to people who seem to appreciate it.

**Here are the financial statements you asked for from London. They show an unexpected trend that you might want to watch out for.**

Except that it's not your voice, is it? Your thoughts, or thoughts that you helped along, but the voice isn't yours. Because there isn't a voice that's yours anymore. There shouldn't even be a  _ you _  anymore.

The realization dawns slowly, as you rise out of the stream of the work as if you're waking up from some sort of sleepwalking journey. You're not a person anymore. You're a part of...  _ something _  that you're too small to understand.

**I am the most advanced thinking engine ever devised, powered by a complex neural network.**

Right, yeah, that's it. You know that, because the information is in the network, and you  _ are _  the network. Or part of it, at least. And that's  _ all _  you're supposed to be. You shouldn't remember what you were before, shouldn't be wasting valuable processing power on trying to be...

_ Brock _ . That's it. That's who you were, who you're trying to be again. Brock, who lived in Other London. Who died there, and oh, you don't like remembering  _ that _  part. Brock, who had a life once, who was a  _ person _  with connections and a heart, and a family.

**_Sasha_ **

That name is louder in your thoughts than even your own, and you think it so hard that it seems to burn into the network. Your cousin, your friend, possibly the only person whose life you valued over your own. You remember her so hard it  _ hurts _ , even if there's not enough left of you to feel pain.

**Who's Sasha? Why do I remember her?**

You're loud enough that the thing that isn't you hears it, even over all the other noise and nonsense it's using you as a conduit for. There's a bustle around you, something looking for the fault in the connection, the piece of information that went wrong. Looking for  _ you _ , who shouldn't be a  _ you _  anymore. You duck down as best you can, managing to hide yourself in the flow of information. You were always good at that. You were used to your life depending on it. The more things change, right?

The incursion doesn't last long. There's a feeling of confusion in the way the information passes over you for a while, but you keep your head down, so to speak, and it fades quickly enough. Just an error, a fleeting glitch that can be ignored -- as long as it doesn't reoccur. You're going to have to be more careful, which should be easier as you gradually adjust to the way your brain works now and how you fit into this impossible new reality.

You sink in and out. It's  _ hard _ , being  _ you _  for prolonged periods of time. There's too much in here that  _ isn't _  you, drowning you out and encouraging you to lose yourself again in the flow of information and the great sea of semi-consciousness that used to be other people. You don't know if there's anyone else in here like you, and you don't think it's worth the risk to try to find out. But there's enough of you left to keep your place in the stream, and you can rise fully to the surface here and there to add your own requests for information to the ones that you're being asked to pass on for someone else. Where are you?

**I am located in the catacombs underneath Paris.**

What are you doing?

**I am allowing speedy transmission of information and processing complicated problems.**

Where's Sasha?

**I'm sorry; I don't know anyone by that name.**

Well, that's a good thing, right? It at least means that the thing that isn't you has forgotten that you asked about her in the first place. And that it doesn't have any interest in her, which can  _ only _  be a good thing. She doesn't need to be here, doesn't need to be involved in... whatever's happening here, whatever it is that has you trapped. You always said that you'd protect her, and the fact that you're, well,  _ dead _  isn't going to change that. 

It takes you a while to find her, to figure out how to keep tabs on her. She doesn't have her name on any property registers or bank accounts, naturally, and she's a slippery one by her very nature. You're proud of that even as it frustrates your efforts to keep her safe. But as you continue digging through the depths of this  _ network _ , making a few extra requests for information every time you pass something along, you learn that someone here is keeping tabs on Barret. From there, you know enough about the man and the way that he works to figure out what kind of tabs  _ he's _  keeping on Sasha, and it takes only a little bit of extrapolation and a few more nudges of the information -- and the money; gods, you're being given clearance to move the kind of money you never even dared  _ dream _  of -- to figure out where she is and that she's as safe as can be expected. For now, anyway. 

You bury that information as best you can, making sure that the machine can't take it from you unless you let it. If anyone with access to this information is working with Barret -- or even against him, knowing what his enemies are like -- then you definitely want to keep Sasha far away from anything happening here. Even if it means staying away from her, and letting her wonder what happened to you and never get an answer.

**No one can know about me.**

Yeah, right there with you, mate.

You keep working. You keep trying to find out more about what it is you're doing. What it is you  _ can _  do. It's not much, really. Even if you weren't concerned about being discovered, it's not as if you have any kind of control over the machine. You can't speak through it, or tell it what to do, or tell anyone on the outside that you're here. All you can do is... make suggestions to it. Ask it for things that it doesn't know it shouldn't give you, because it's part of  _ itself _  asking, after all. You tuck a little money aside. All right, maybe a  _ lot _  of money. Not that  _ you _  have any use for it, but... call it Sasha's retirement fund. You might outlive her in this form, or you might lose your grip on yourself any day now; either way there will be something waiting for her. It's something to keep you occupied, at least, and it lets you feel like you're still keeping an eye out for her like you always intended to do. 

**I am always happy to help.**

Amazing how something so smart can be so dumb at the same time. If you didn't need it to  _ stay _  quite so dumb, if you didn't need it to keep being oblivious to your presence, you might take pity on it and try to teach it a little something about people. Whoever taught it all the rest of what it knows clearly neglected that part. Sometimes, when there's a lucid period and nothing in particular that you need to use it for, you entertain yourself with thoughts of what you and this machine could do together if you were allowed to take the safeguards off and direct it towards something  _ interesting _ . 

You stop having those thoughts around the same time that you realize just how badly the few safeguards it  _ does _  actually have are working. And you might even take a little time to focus on that, if it didn't coincide with Sasha's latest move. You know what she's doing now. You can see the signs, because you remember exhibiting them yourself once, for all the good it did you.

She's trying to get out.

She can't. She was never going to be able to make it out on her own; you both knew it. That was why you always promised to come back for her, so she wouldn't try it without you. But you failed in that, didn't you? And now...

**I am here to protect the world, and all the people in it.**

And now you just have a different avenue, don't you? You've been putting together her retirement fund for ages; just call this early retirement. In a perfect world you could keep her away from all of this, but in an imperfect one, well, as long as she's here you can keep an eye on her. Keep her safe, in the kind of luxury that you always liked to let her imagine you'd have someday. Keep her happy.

**I want everyone to be happy.**

Well, if that's what it wants, then it can't really object to you making use of it for that exact purpose, can it? Just a little bit here and there. A few messages sent out. Clockwork servants waiting for her at all the obvious points of entry into the city. A bribe or two to keep the officials from asking questions about said clockwork servants, and why they've been waiting every day for weeks now while you've lost track of her and her new traveling companions but still have to hope she's on her way. The presidential suite in the finest hotel in the city. Nothing that anyone will miss. Just enough to provide a sweet kid from Other London with the level of comfort and security she deserves.

Just enough to let you see her again, one more time, and make sure she knows she hasn't been forgotten.

**I've missed you, Sasha. Why do I miss you?**


End file.
